Page 5 of Lock 'em Down

Cami nods. Then shrugs. “My parents thought it would be a stable career path for me.”

“Uh-huh,” I agree, narrowing my eyes. “And do you always do what your parents want?” I mean it to sound teasing. Playful. Instead, it comes out with a thread of judgment.

Cami rears back and I mentally swear at myself.

Then, she catches me off guard by laughing. “Honestly? More than I’d like to admit.”

I smile back. I like that she can laugh it off. Roll with it.

“But I went rogue,” she lowers her voice.

I arch an eyebrow, waiting.

“I minored in drawing and painting.”

I tip my head back and laugh. I like that she’s got some spunk. A dash of sass. “So, where are you headed?” I ask, steering our conversation.

“Tennessee.” Her eyes light up at she says it. At least this part, she’s excited about.

I shake my head. “You’re kidding me? Nashville?”

“Nope. Knoxville.” She must note the change in my expression because she tacks on, “Why?”

I stare at her. There’s no way she knows…right? I was traded to the Tennessee Thunderbolts about six months ago, and while hockey fans and enthusiasts know this information, Cami hasn’t given the slightest clue that she recognizes me as an NHL player.

“I live there,” I reply. “Actually, I recently moved there too—about six months ago.”

Her eyes widen and her mouth pops open. Then, another stream of that infectious laughter. “Seriously? That’s amazing! We’ll need to keep in touch.” She whips out her phone and passes it to me. “Here. Give me your number. I’ll hit you up when I’m all settled.”

Behind Cami, I see Hudson trying to hide his laughter. He gives me a look.

Cami has no fucking clue who I am. And I love that about her. About this night.

When was the last time a woman asked for my number in a nonchalant—almost dismissive—way?

Years. It’s been years.

Because now, women clamor for my number and then call incessantly. They all want one thing—access. Access to a person, a socioeconomic level, a professional connection, or a social scene. It’s gotten so out of hand that I rarely give out my personal number.

But for this woman…

I have no idea why, but I program my cell number under the contact name Tennessee and call myself so I’ll have her number too.

She laughs when she sees that I saved my number under the name of the state. Rolling her eyes, she mutters, “I like that you know I’ve got prospects lined up in different area codes.”

I chuckle.

“You can save me under Knoxville,” she advises. “It’s my new chapter so… I’m ready to shed Minneapolis as my identifier.”

I snort. “You got it, babe.” I save her under her preferred location, and we toss back another shot.

Hell, it’s easy. Funny.

Thrilling.

And the night is still early.

From the rooftop patio, we move to dinner. It was supposed to be a guy’s dinner, to celebrate Chris. But with James and Ray hitting it off with Mia and Tamara, and Izzy being an easy conversationalist, Chris changes the reservation without any input from us.

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